


In Place

by GraeWrites



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Christmas cliches, Feeling Out of Place, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, M/M, Tropes, also patton is latinx, but its mostly just, but that is a passing mention and not a main focal point, holiday goodness, occasional undercurrents of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21918256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraeWrites/pseuds/GraeWrites
Summary: A year later, Roman returns to the Sanders’ abode for Christmas. And maybe he’s still trying to figure out where he’s supposed to fit. Companion piece/Sequel to Homeward but can be read separately.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 13
Kudos: 54





	In Place

**Author's Note:**

> Is this chock full of clichés and tropes? Yes. Am I sorry for that? Nope. Do I have mixed feelings about how this fic actually turned out? Yep. C’est la vie. Happy holidays!

_December 23. 10:43 AM._

Roman looks over, his mouth quirking into a small, appreciative smile as Logan hands him a mug full of a steaming liquid. Roman’s folded up in the chair by the window, watching the late morning snowfall drift in large, lazy flakes towards the blanket of snow already on the ground. His first snowfall—in the middle of the night outside a broken down car with Virgil—flickers through his mind for not the first time in the past week.

Had that really been a year ago?

“Thanks, Mr. Sanders,” Roman says. A quick glance and deep inhale of the contents of the mug indicate it is coffee. He takes a tentative sip, an odd and unexpected note of affection squeezing his chest as he realizes that they remembered his usual of three spoonfuls of sugar.

Logan inclines his head. “You are welcome.” He has a mug in his own hand—and the faint scent of coffee drifts in the air around them. “How did you sleep?”

“Long,” Roman replies with a sheepish smile. “But it was good.”

The corner of Logan’s mouth twitches in something like amusement. “Still not as long as Virgil.” He glances towards the stairs and shakes his head.

Roman laughs a little. Virgil had yet to emerge from his room today. The college student quickly brushes the bangs falling into his eyes back into his hair. The brief moment of calm is interrupted by the sound of music drifting into the living room from the kitchen: a song that Roman recognizes as soon as the trumpet line kicks in, even before the lyrics.

“ _Feliz navidad. Feliz navidad. Feliz navidad, prospero a_ _ñ_ _o y Felicidad.”_

Patton suddenly appears from around the kitchen doorway, dancing and singing along into a whisk. He’s in blue pajama pants and a gray t-shirt with a cartoon cat on the front. Roman can’t help the smile that breaks across his face, and though Logan rolls his eyes as Patton dances his way towards him, the spark of affection is evident. Almost as if it’s routine, Logan sets his mug of black coffee down on the side table right before Patton grabs his hand and pulls him into a dance in the middle of the living room.

Roman sips his own drink and watches them. Patton continues to sing in Spanish, and Logan matches his dancing at every step. Roman thinks it might be salsa. Or merengue. He doesn’t remember much from his dance lesson days. Logan and Patton, though, are actually…. Quite good.

Roman laughs as Virgil emerges from the stairs a moment later, confusion and bewilderment flashing shamelessly across his face as his dads dance to “Feliz Navidad” in the living room. Patton glances over towards the foot of the stairs and grins. Virgil shakes his head, says something about “too early for this”, and turns as if to go back upstairs.

Patton breaks from Logan and grabs Virgil’s hand. “C’mon, kiddo”, Patton chimes brightly at the same time that Logan says something about it being “nearly 11 o’clock”. Virgil trips a little as his dad pulls him to join the two of them dancing. Virgil lets his dad spin him around once and then stumbles his way towards the kitchen with a barely contained smile and a note about making sure breakfast doesn’t burn.

He shrugs his shoulders at Roman from across the room before he disappears through the kitchen doorway.

Patton rolls right into Logan’s anticipating arms as they dance together again until the song ends. Logan presses a small kiss to Patton’s head as the song fades out.

“You guys are really good,” Roman says.

Patton grins. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“I suppose it is mostly Patton’s side of the family to thank for that,” Logan adds as he returns to his coffee cup on the table beside Roman. “Patton has known how to dance like that for as long as I’ve known him. I picked up a few things from his family over the years.”

Patton leans over and kisses Logan’s shoulder. “You also took dance lessons before our wedding to surprise me. I’m sure that helped, too.”

Logan hums noncommittally. “The wedding was nearly exclusively your family, after all. The last thing I wanted was to embarrass myself. Dance lessons seemed like a practical investment, given the situation.”

Virgil’s voice from the kitchen interrupts the conversation. “So what’s the plan for today?”

“Shopping, I believe,” Logan calls back to him. “Patton and I have a few more things to get. You and Roman are welcome to come along.”

Roman glances outside again. From his position in the chair, he can see down the street a ways to the corner. Mr. Picani’s inflatable snowman is in the same position it was from Roman’s exhausted memory last year. Across the street, two small children are having a snowball fight. Roman snorts when he sees a man emerge from the front door—bundled up in a coat, scarf, hat, and gloves—wielding a nerf gun. The two children shriek excitedly and take off running towards the back yard.

It leaves an odd feeling in Roman’s chest.

“I’m down,” Virgil replies. “Roman? You in?”

Roman blinks and looks back at Logan and Patton. Patton tilts his head, his brow furrowing in something like concern. Roman offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Yeah. I’m in.”

…

_December 23. 4:10 PM._

Roman grabs a glass ornament from the vendor’s table and turns it over gently in his hand. The cold December air causes the breath of wonder that escapes his lips at the intricately designed object to form a small cloud in front of his face. Roman tucks his nose a little further into his scarf.

“That’s hand-blown,” the vendor—an elderly gentleman with frazzled gray hair and pink cheeks—tells him.

“It’s beautiful,” Roman tells him sincerely. He sets it gingerly down in the box he’d pulled it from. He glances over his shoulder as the bell above the door to the puzzle shop jingles, signaling Patton’s emergence from it. He looks left, then right, then crosses the walkway towards the ornament stand that Roman and Virgil had been perusing. Virgil, at the other corner of the table from Roman, looks up as his dad approaches.

“Is your father nearby?”

Virgil eyes the not-at-all-subtle way that Patton is hiding something beneath his jacket. He shakes his head. “I think he went to the bookstore to get something for Corbin and Sloane. Why?”

Patton pulls a blue plastic bag from beneath his gray coat and opens it. Virgil peers in. “I got your father that hand-carved chess set he’s been eyeing for a few months. I’m gonna go hide it in the car. I’ll be right back.” He gives a bright smile to Roman before rushing off towards the parking lot.

Virgil shoves his hands into the pockets of his black coat and crosses the few steps towards Roman. “Dad is terrible at hiding things. He gets lucky that father doesn’t really go looking.”

Roman’s mouth quirks into an almost-smile. “Didn’t you say something about one of them eating part of that gingerbread kit last year?”

“That was dad.” Roman doesn’t miss the look of warm affection in Virgil’s eyes, even as they both start walking towards a bench to take a seat. They pass by a chestnut stand and the earthy scent is almost enough for Roman to forget just how cold it is outside.

A father wearing a Santa hat with a young girl dressed like Elsa on his shoulders passes by. Roman gives her a deep bow before he takes a seat on the bench, and the girl grins brightly at him, giving him a regal wave in return. He sees Virgil glance at him out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t say anything. Neither does Roman. Instead, the two of them sit in companionable silence and watch families, couples, and individuals bustle around for their last-minute Christmas gifts.

People watching had always left Roman feeling vaguely uncomfortable, especially around the holidays. In the back of his mind, he realizes it’s mostly when he notices families and couples holding hands that he gets that odd feeling in his chest again. He doesn’t know what it means. It’s like a part of him is reaching out for something that he cannot find, or that he does not know how to name.

“Don’t think so hard, Princey,” Virgil chimes lightly. “You might blow a fuse.”

Roman huffs an affronted breath. “Excuse you, thinking is my specialty.”

“Is that what you were doing when you sang Mariah Carey at the top of your lungs that one Thursday—”

“As a matter of fact, it was!”

“All the more reason you should do less of it, then.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Charlie Frown.” There’s no real bite in Roman’s voice. The familiarity of the banter with Virgil eases some of the discomfort from a moment ago. Virgil pulls his hands out of his pockets to hold them up in mock surrender.

When he really thinks about it, Roman figures it’s a bit of an odd relationship. Just over a year ago, Roman really only knew Virgil as someone from his English 100 class. Now? Well. Roman considers Virgil his best friend. It had been a fast year: a whirlwind of undergraduate classes and exams and papers, a summer internship for Roman in New York with a magazine and one for Virgil at home with a graphic design company. They’d visited each other twice that summer, and though Roman would never admit it, he was certain that was the only thing that kept him sane.

The start of their sophomore year, Roman and Virgil both had abysmal roommates and elected to move in together. More tests, more essays, more stress. Another set of finals. And then suddenly it was Christmas break. And Virgil had acted like the idea that Roman was going with him to Maine was a given—something that was really saving grace for Roman, who wouldn’t have dared to ask.

From his very first time meeting them a year ago, Roman loved Virgil’s dads. They were everything his parents hadn’t been, and a shining example of the kind of love Roman hoped to find with a guy one day himself. But every time Roman was near Virgil and his parents…. It left an odd weight on his shoulders. As if Roman was trying to squeeze into a space he wasn’t actually wanted in.

“What?” Virgil asks suddenly, from beside him.

“What?”

Virgil shrugs, his gaze flickering back to look at the people bustling by when Roman looks over to meet his gaze. “I know that look, Roman.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Virgil arcs an eyebrow and looks at him again. “They’re glad you’re here. They’re not just, like… tolerating it, or whatever. You know that, right?”

Roman freezes for a second, then tries to recover. “Who? My adoring fanbase?” He waves at a baby that is staring at him with huge eyes beneath a beanie cap in a stroller as his mother talks with a friend.

But for some reason, Virgil doesn’t seem willing to let it go. “My dads.”

Roman glances quickly at him. “I know.”

“Do you?”

Virgil’s question doesn’t get answered as they both see Logan emerge from the bookshop with a bag in his hands and starts towards them. Roman finds himself grateful for the interruption. But he doesn’t miss the quick glance that Virgil throws his way anyway.

…

_December 23. 8:01 PM._

Patton stands in the middle of the living room, the lights from the Christmas tree reflecting in the lens of his glasses, and steeples his fingers in front of his face. He looks thoughtfully at the otherwise bare tree, and Roman can see the wheels of thought turning in his head from his position on the couch.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that it needs more lights—”

“Absolutely not,” Logan interrupts flatly and immediately. “Patton, you put six strands of lights on that tree. I draw the line at seven.”

Virgil snorts from where he’s sitting at the bottom of the steps. He’s got both hands wrapped around a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Roman’s sits on the coffee table. He likes to let his marshmallows soak for a moment before he drinks it. He’s got a red blanket pulled across his lap.

“We do have one more strand,” Virgil says with a mischievous look in his eyes. “Seems like it would be a waste to just not put it on the tree at this point.”

Logan shoots a look at his son as Patton gasps. “Exactly! We can’t have one lonely strand left, Logan.”

Logan releases a long, suffering sigh, but even he can’t contain the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he looks otherwise stoically at his husband. “Very well. Why you insist on personifying inanimate objects but refuse to do so when it resembles a human form, I may never understand—”

“Is this still about me eating the gingerbread man last year?”

A beat of silence. “Perhaps.”

“He’s made of gingerbread, Logan.” Patton grabs the strand left untangled on the floor and hands one end to his husband. “He _wants_ to be eaten. It makes him feel fulfilled.”

“I see.”

Patton and Logan work together to wrap and connect the final strand of lights around the base of the tree. Patton beams, satisfied at their work, as Logan steps around and snakes an arm around his husband’s waist, pulling him in and kissing the top of his head. He then turns his attention to the green storage container sitting beside the coffee table. He pops the lid off to reveal it’s contents—shrouded in brown and tissue paper. Ornaments. Apparently, sentimental ones.

Virgil pulls himself to his feet as Logan sits on the couch and Patton sits cross-legged on the floor. Roman decides to take his cue from his friend and tosses the blanket off his legs, standing up as well.

“Aw, I remember this one!” Patton exclaims as he unwraps one of the ornaments. “Logan, this was from the first time we spent Christmas together.”

Logan gingerly takes the square ornament from his husband’s hands and dangles it from one of his fingers. Roman can see a picture of Patton and Logan together inside of it. “Yes,” Logan muses. “I remember this. We were sophomores in college. You’d heard about my… situation and asked if I wanted to join you for the holidays.” He casts a quick but gentle look at his husband before turning his attention to the tree and carefully selecting a branch to loop through the string.

“And this was from our vacation two years ago,” Patton explains, carefully finding the hook at the top to hand off to Virgil.

Virgil makes a face as he takes it. “Was this from that one middle-of-nowhere restaurant that gave me food poisoning?”

Logan studies it for a moment from across the room, then pushes the frame of his glasses up his nose a bit. “No,” he says. “That one is from the Christmas Tree farm in Vermont that your dad wanted to stop at in the middle of July.”

“It’s never too early to celebrate Christmas—Oh!” Patton cuts himself off as he unwraps the tissue paper from another one. “Virge, remember this?” Patton brandishes the blue and purple sphere to show his son before he hands it off to Roman.

Roman takes it reverently, arching an eyebrow at Virgil. The corner of Virgil’s mouth quirks in an affectionate smile at the object in Roman’s hands. “Yep,” Virgil says.

“It was the first Christmas gift you ever got me,” Patton says. “Your first year with us.”

Virgil huffs a faint, embarrassed laugh. “Not my best gift.”

“You had only known us for a few months,” Logan replies. “We were all getting to know one another still. You could not have been expected to get a particularly personal gift. And besides, it now holds significant sentimental value.”

Roman glances down at it. It was relatively unassuming—a perfect sphere, swirls of blue and purple colors, and the year it was bought printed in silver calligraphy—but Roman is careful when he hangs it off a branch. He loops the pine through the yarn tied at the top of it and stops a moment to ensure it will hold securely before he turns his attention away from it. Patton is already explaining and reminiscing about another ornament that he’s slowly handing off to Logan.

Roman can tell from the fond if slightly rote responses from Logan and Virgil that Patton’s rehashing of memories through these ornaments was probably a regular event whenever they decorated the tree. Roman hardly minds. He listens to Patton’s stories with more than polite silence—he enjoys them. Last year, Patton and Logan had waited until Virgil was there to decorate the tree as well. But Roman had elected to help Patton with some things in the kitchen so that he could lead the tree decorating. He hadn’t really elected to take part in it. 

He felt like he was witnessing a surprisingly intimate moment with this family and the odd feeling from early returns to his chest. It squeezes a little harder this time, and Roman feels out of place and uncertain. Like he’s intruding.

“I think that’s it,” Patton says nearly an hour later, peering into the empty storage box from his place on the floor.

“Hold on,” Virgil says. “I’ve got one more.” The college student rushes from around the tree and disappears up the stairs. Logan quirks an eyebrow at Roman, who simply shakes his head. He has no idea what Virgil is talking about.

Moments later, Virgil comes back down the steps. Hanging from his forefinger is a gold string loop fastened to a small ornament. A red car. One that looks remarkably like—

“Wait,” Roman says, frowning.

“Look, it’s the closest I could find,” Virgil says with a slight shrug. “It’s supposed to be Maximus.”

Roman stares at Virgil, confused. He, evidently, isn’t the only one. “The horse from Tangled?” Patton asks from behind them, having not moved from his position sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“My car,” Roman replies, but he still doesn’t understand. Why did Virgil get an ornament version of his car?

Virgil carefully threads it onto one of the few unadorned branches towards the top of the tree. “Yeah,” he replies easily. “A reminder of last year. Your first Christmas with us.”

Roman stares at it as Virgil steps back to survey the addition. Roman feels his friend nudge him with his elbow, but he can’t speak past the sudden lump in his throat. He doesn’t think he’d trust himself to speak right now anyway.

“I think it’s great,” Patton chimes in thoughtfully. “I had been looking for some way to add you to our Christmas memories when we were shopping today but nothing seemed to fit.”

Logan gives an affirming nod. “Agreed. I had been doing the same without success. Although sentimental ornaments are, admittedly, not my strong suit. That is a more than satisfactory addition to the family Christmas tree.”

“ _More_ than satisfactory?” Virgil quips teasingly. “Well, now you know you’re an approved Sanders.” Logan rolls his eyes in response. 

But Roman still doesn’t know what to say. The red car ornament looks like it _fits_. It blends into the wide assortment of random objects and shapes that had been turned into ornaments full of meaning and memory. And all Roman can do is look at it and realize that they all wanted to place Roman amidst that smattering of love put on display in their living room.

“I… are you sure?” Roman finds himself asking, in a voice that sounds too small to be his own.

He’s not really asking about the ornament. An ornament is a temporary seasonal decoration but it _feels_ very permanent to Roman. A part of him tries to tell himself that he’s reading too much into it, but he knows. He listened to Patton share memories about every single object on that tree, he saw the warmth in all of their eyes with each one that got added and Roman _knows_ —even if a part of him wants to deny it—that being added to this tree signifies a lot more than just. _Decoration_.

So he asks. _Are you sure?_

“Of course we’re sure, kiddo,” Patton says as he pushes himself to his feet. He steps up beside Roman and wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a moment.

“Roman,” Logan adds, both serious and uncharacteristically gentle, “you have a place here. With us. For as long as you want it.” Startled, Roman glances at Virgil’s father. There’s something aged and knowing in his eyes and Roman suddenly feels more _seen_ than he has in a very, very long time. He blinks quickly against the heat in his eyes and tries to clear his throat.

“I…” Roman tries.

“And we hope you’ll want it for a long time,” Patton adds with a small squeeze to Roman’s shoulders. “Because like it or not, you’re part of this family now. The tree is just…” Patton trails off, waving a hand at it, seemingly at a loss for how to explain his point.

“It’s a symbol,” Virgil adds in. “Of what’s already been true for a while now.” He’s giving Roman a quiet, knowing look. Almost a placid _I told you so_.

Roman casts a look towards Virgil and hopes he understands everything he isn’t sure how to say in this moment. “Thank you,” Roman says, despite the gap between the words and what he means behind them. They are the only words that come to mind. He wishes he could think of more.

Patton laughs slightly—warm and reassuring—and gives Roman one more squeeze before he lets go. Roman glances at Logan, seeing him smile faintly and incline his head. There’s a brief pause of silence before Virgil jumps in.

“So. About that gingerbread house?”

…

_December 24. 9:40 PM._

“Roman! Get in here!”

Roman rolls his eyes at Virgil’s teasingly aggressive shout from the living room, then laughs at Patton’s immediate admonishment. He finishes pouring the popcorn into the large bowl before tossing the bag into the trash.

“You got it?” Logan asks, standing beside him as he slides the tray of hot chocolates off the counter to balance on his arms. Roman has to stop himself from laughing at the man—Roman wasn’t sure he’d ever quite get used to seeing Virgil’s father in a unicorn onesie. But somehow, Patton had convinced them all to wear them in the name of tradition.

Roman’s had been a slightly-early Christmas present from Patton. His new Beauty and the Beast themed garment was now his favorite thing he owned.

Roman picks up the bowl and nods. “Yeah. I’m good. You good?” He nods to the tray balanced across Logan’s arm.

Logan smiles. “I have enough practice from my barista days. Let’s not keep them waiting any longer.”

The two of them head out from the kitchen and into the living room. Virgil is sitting on the floor in his skeleton onesie with a violet blanket pulled across his lap. Patton sits on the floor beside him—in a cat onesie of his own—and thanks Logan when his husband hands him one of the mugs from the tray. Roman sits on the couch, folding his legs up as he lowers the bowl of popcorn into Virgil’s lap in front of him. There’s an exchange of mugs, snacks, and light teasing as everyone settles in.

“So what are we watching?” Roman asks as Logan loads the DVD.

“ _Muppets Christmas Carol_.” Patton reaches for the remote to adjust the volume up a bit in preparation.

“It’s the best of all worlds,” Virgil adds in.

“Yes,” Logan muses, padding to the light-switch to turn off the lights in the room as the movie starts up. “Virgil’s favorite holiday story is Dickens’ _A Christmas Carol_. Patton’s fond of the Muppets. I appreciate some of the more sophisticated humor. And I have a feeling you will be fond of the music in this movie.”

“Watching this is a tradition,” Patton adds. “We just didn’t get to last year given… circumstances.”

Virgil cranes his neck back to look at Roman on the couch above him as Logan takes a seat beside Roman. “That’s one thing about this family. So. Many. Traditions. So get ready. There’s no going back now.” He says it lightly. Easily. And Roman knows without asking that Virgil is a far cry from complaining about it. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Roman says with a small but sincere smile. “I’m right where I want to be.”

He sees Logan smile a bit from behind his mug as he takes a sip. Patton glances over at him. “Good. You’re a perfect fit.”


End file.
